


A Little Light

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Series: Crime AU [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Crime AU, Epilogue, F/M, Fitz's POV, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two-hundred fifty-one days after returning from living undercover, things aren't quite going as Fitz planned - but, in at least one case, that's actually a good thing.</p><p>One-Shot Epilogue to "<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2386922">Wait Out the Sun</a>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leo-simmons (aching_for_distance)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aching_for_distance/gifts).



> I did a fic giveaway on my tumblr back in December, and leo-simmons requested "a year after WOtS" as her grand prize. This isn't a year after the end of WOtS, per se, but it's a year after something. I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> As ever, thank you SO much to MK for editing this & spending ages talking me through my concerns!

_Twenty-Seventh Day_ _of the Mission_

 

For the third time that night, Fitz’s fingers slipped off the warped knot of his tie, and he ripped the damned thing off his neck in frustration. He’d been doing this by himself every morning since Sci-Ops, even through their first few weeks of living undercover, so it should be well absorbed into muscle memory at this point. And yet, he kept fumbling the knot as his mind wandered repeatedly over to their mission for the night.

They’d met with Charlie Weller and his associates a few times over the past week, and their successful performances had earned them an invitation to the bar run by Georgie, Charlie’s daughter. The Wellers owned the establishment, of course, and although it wasn’t quite their inner sanctum, it was far more promising than simply meeting them out-and-about in Atlanta. The likeliness of finding any hard intel regarding the family’s connection to Hydra there was slim, but it was an important stepping-stone to being truly welcomed into the fold.

A small _tsk_ sounded behind him, and Fitz turned from the mirror, biting down subtly on his tongue when he laid eyes on Jemma’s chosen outfit for the evening. Her long, wavy hair was tied in a high ponytail, exposing the pale expanse of her throat. The steep dip of her amber shirt somehow made her neck seem that much longer, and he shivered internally at the notion that he’d have permission to smooth his fingers along that soft, appealing skin once they got to the bar. He was torn between eagerness for the evening to begin and a simultaneous awareness that he most certainly should not be.

“Would you like some help?” Jemma’s voice made Fitz start, eyes darting rapidly up from where he’d been studying the way the shirt’s fabric clung to her waist.

“What?”

“Your tie,” she said, tapping the hand that still held the dangling material.

“Oh,” Fitz breathed in relief, letting his lips quirk up in a wry smile. “Yeah, please. Bloody thing just won’t go...”

Jemma looped the tie around his neck, stepping close enough that he could have kissed her – if that had been something they did when they were alone. Which they most certainly didn’t. Something warm bloomed in his chest as he watched her fingers make quick work of the accessory, appreciating the domesticity of the moment more than he should. She’d actually helped him learn how to tie a bowtie back at the Academy (thanks to a library book she’d found in some obscure back-room shelf), so it wasn’t that they’d never done this before. The difference was that tonight Fitz couldn’t stop himself from wanting to keep her close (closer – as close as possible), whereas before he’d merely returned to the task at hand without giving similar gestures any further thought. In some ways, he missed those days – when she was Simmons, he was Fitz, and that was that. His life had been far simpler before his feelings for Jemma had become so infuriatingly complicated. 

“Tonight’s our first date, you know,” Jemma said, a gentle smile on her lips as she stepped back to admire her work. “As the Fitzgeralds.” 

That had, in fact, occurred to Fitz about an hour ago, and was at least a quarter of the reason for his nervousness. (The rest was easily attributed to the fact that he’d have to maintain his cover while drinking, at least a glass, and that for the first time they’d be surrounded by criminals without necessarily having an easy escape route.)

“Should’ve gotten you flowers or something,” he joked, straightening the tie along his shirt buttons.

Grabbing her jacket, Jemma gave a small snort of laughter. “They’d just die in a few days anyway,” she said dismissively, pulling her arms through the sleeves. “And as we’re not actually dating – or married – you don’t have to fawn over me. I’m going home with you either way.” She grinned, waiting for him by the door, and he couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Silly me, I’d almost forgotten,” he deadpanned, zipping his leather jacket closed. Fitz took a moment to pat down his pockets, making sure he had the car keys and his wallet. “Well then, Mrs. Harker-Fitzgerald,” he said as he pulled the door open, “shall we?”

Jemma inhaled, and a flicker of nervousness disappeared behind her nod. “Absolutely.”

 

\------

 

_Two-Hundred Fifty-One Days After the Mission_

 

“I can’t bloody believe this –” 

“That’s the way it’s got to be, Fitz –”

“No, it doesn’t!” Fitz stared back at Director Coulson, mouth set in a thin line. He knew that Koenig, Skye, and Jemma were watching him, and he could practically feel them all tense as he leaned forward on the desk between him and his boss.

Today was supposed to be a good day – he had plans with Jemma tonight (brief plans, but plans nonetheless), and the base was gearing up for an important mission next week. This briefing was supposed to just involve going over some procedures, and to check in about his and Jemma’s roles during the op. Instead, he’d been blindsided by the director’s revelation that Fitz wouldn’t be allowed to go out on the mission at all – that he’d be stuck back at the bloody Playground running the kind of support Koenig could take care of with his eyes closed. 

“I should be there with everyone else,” he gritted out, refusing to look up on the off chance that he’d catch either Skye or Jemma’s pitying looks. 

“You’re still not cleared for this kind of mission,” came Koenig’s voice. The stocky man stood a few feet behind Coulson, arms clasped calmly in front of himself, as if the entire situation was completely banal.

“Jemma’s going,” Fitz shot back, knowing their response even before Coulson opened his mouth. 

“Because she never once indicated that she’d be willing to –” 

“Switch sides, yeah, I fucking know.” He grimaced and kicked the desk chair hard enough that it teetered on one side before managing to stay upright. 

It had been his weakest moment and Fitz had regretted it ever since – that phone call when he’d implied to Skye that he didn’t want to leave the Wellers if it meant he could stay there with Jemma. The thought hadn’t even made sense, not really, and he’d been paying for his own foolishness ever since, first with a painfully thorough review after their initial return and then being more carefully monitored in general. Part of his frustration with the whole thing was that it reminded him of his own failing; he didn’t like admitting this (to anyone, let alone himself), but he’d meant it. Shameful though it may be, it was true – if Jemma ever decided to leave SHIELD, he’d go with her, no matter where it might lead. 

Fitz rubbed his thumb and fingers into his eyes, taking a quick breath before straightening. “Fine. I’ll be in the lab if you need me.” With that, he turned on a dime and strode out of the room, wanting to stew in his own frustration in peace.

He should have known that he wasn’t going to be allowed to get away that easily, though, as two pairs of footsteps followed him quickly into the hallway.

“Fitz!” Skye caught up with him first, grabbing onto his shirtsleeve to stop his progress. Pursing his lips, he turned to her, sighing at the anxiety plainly written on her face. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault, if I hadn’t told May –”

“Skye,” Fitz interrupted, holding out his hand. She stuttered to a stop, teeth immediately beginning to worry at her lip in the silence. “It’s not your fault.”

“But if I –”

“You were doing your job,” he said, “other agents lives depended on my cooperation, and telling your S.O. was the right thing to do. It’s my bloody mistake, okay? Not yours.” 

The younger woman looked like she wanted to protest again, but wilted as she stared at him. “Still,” she muttered, glancing back at where Jemma was watching them in silence. “I’m sorry anyway.” 

Shaking his head, Fitz opened his mouth to reject her apology for a second time, but Coulson poked his head out of his office, drawing all their gazes. “Skye, we still need you in here.”

She gave their boss a wry salute. “Copy that.” Once he’d disappeared again, she turned back to Fitz and sighed. “See you later, okay?” He nodded, smiling weakly for her benefit, and she turned towards the office, letting Jemma squeeze her shoulder as she went by. He watched his friend pull the office door closed behind her, and debated just pretending not to see the way his girlfriend was looking at him. Knowing even as he had the thought that she’d never let that pass, he flicked his eyes over to where she stood, hands held stiffly at her sides.

“Your bunk or mine?” The words were soft but her tone brokered no argument, and he sighed, rubbing tiredly at the back of his neck.

“Mine,” he said at last. “I need to get something anyway.” 

Jemma nodded and slipped one hand into his, tugging him towards the residence hallway. A few agents he didn’t know well passed them as they made their way through the Playground, and Fitz tried to remind himself that Coulson could have been much harder on them than he had been. Along with jettisoning Fury’s “levels,” the new Director (not-so-new once they’d returned, actually) had also taken it upon himself to obliquely inform FitzSimmons soon after their return that Section 17 wouldn’t apply to them. Putting Fitz through his loyalty paces seemed like a small price to pay in return for them being able to be together openly – when he wasn’t being left out of important missions, anyway.

He plopped down on his bed while she locked the door behind her and leaned against it, watching him silently.

“I’m alright, Jemma,” he muttered after the quiet started to gnaw at him. “Shouldn’t be so surprised, I guess –”

“It’s ridiculous, Fitz,” she interrupted, and he realized that the firm line of her mouth hadn’t been directed at him, but rather at Coulson. “You’re the most trustworthy and loyal person I’ve ever met, you’d never have really left to join the Wellers.”

Fitz exhaled, reluctantly raising his eyes to hers. “We’ve talked about that, Jemma,” he reminded her. “Y’know that’s not exactly true.” 

“Well,” she said, sliding onto the bed next to him. “ _I_ would never leave SHIELD, so they don’t have anything to worry about.” She bumped his shoulder with hers and smiled, clearly trying to lighten the mood, but he wasn’t quite ready to give up his moroseness yet. When his eyes dropped back to his lap, Jemma sighed, reaching over to clasp his hands. “That’s not very good, though, is it?”

“I know,” he sighed, letting her meet his gaze again. “I know, but that’s how I feel, I told you that. Can’t just change it.” Fitz tried to reign in the defensive undertone to his voice, but she only raised a hand, signaling that she didn’t want to argue right now. They’d had that conversation a few months ago but let it lie, mostly because there was no way through their impasse – Fitz would have followed Jemma wherever she led, even if she didn’t have to approve of it.

“It won’t be nearly as much fun going undercover without you,” she murmured, nuzzling into his neck. Fitz hummed, warmth spreading from where she touched him, and twisted around so he could kiss her properly. Here was something that never failed to make him feel better – the familiar brush and press and slide of Jemma’s lips against his. It had taken him time to adjust to being allowed to do this once they’d returned; he’d spent so long here not letting himself even _think_ of her this way, let alone act upon it, that Jemma had spent most of their first month back initiating most physical contact outside of their bunks. 

After a moment, he broke away, pressing his forehead against hers and grinning as an idea took him. “We could always visit Betsy later – take her for a spin...” 

Jemma made a thoughtful little noise, staring up at Fitz and completely distracting him with the way the faux-sunlight of his bunk danced in the center of her irises. “Why bother leaving the garage?” He couldn’t help the small groan that escaped his throat, and she giggled as he slanted his lips against hers once more, suddenly very glad that the door was already locked. “You’re so easy to distract,” she teased when he started trailing kisses down her neck. Rather than respond, he just sucked gently at a particular spot along the front column of her throat that made her breath hitch, and let her easy distraction speak on its own. (A not-so-small part of him was exceedingly pleased that he could still do that to her – break her concentration with his lips or tongue or fingers – even when they weren’t undercover, when it was just _them_.)

After another moment, though, he remembered why he’d wanted to bring Jemma in here in the first place, and pulled away to reach for his desk drawer. When he turned back to her, a small, velvet drawstring bag concealed in one hand, she was wearing a very pretty pout, and he gave in to the impulse to kiss it away. She hummed in contentment against his lips, and he grinned.

“Alright, we’ll just keep kissing then, no need for presents.” He murmured this as she kissed along his jaw, and he slid his hands around her waist to smooth along her spine through her blouse. But his words had gotten her attention, and she pulled away, nose wrinkling.

“Presents?” 

Fitz inhaled, closing her hand around the velvet bag. “Well, present singular, technically. Today’s the anniversary of our first date. I mean, when we were undercover. It’s not our _real_ first date, I know, but we sorta did everything out of order and all, being best friends, and sleeping together, and pretending to be married, and then dating...” He paused and let out a small noise of annoyance – this hadn’t been how he’d wanted this to go. “I just thought it was worth remembering. And I got you that, but I don’t expect anything back, honestly. I saw it and thought of you, so...”

Jemma listened to him ramble, overturning the bag and letting the necklace slide out into her palm. It was a sterling silver pendant with a microscope etched on the front, small enough that she could wear it every day – if she wanted to – without it getting in the way while she worked.

“Open it,” he said, nudging her hand. “It’s a locket.” Trying not to smile in anticipation, Fitz watched her fingers prize open the delicate clasp. For a moment, she just looked down at the small drawing he’d carefully slotted into the locket in place of a picture, and then she stood up and strode to the door – and out of the room. 

Brows knotting in confusion, Fitz stared at the gap in the door. After a few, long seconds, his adrenaline spiked as he realized that she might have thought he was making fun of her, when, _God_ , that had been the last thing he’d intended. As he lurched forward off the bed, Jemma reentered the room, partly closing the door behind her as he tried to explain himself.

“The necklace was the real present, I promise, I just thought it would be funny, because Skye reminded me about what you said in the hospital wing, with the toothpaste and how… how you felt, so I sketched that in the lab when you weren’t looking, y’know, to sort of say that I’m here to give you toothpaste whenever you need it – and oh, lord, that sounds bloody awful out loud –” This is when Jemma grabbed his face with both hands and pressed her lips firmly to his, silencing him, although he kept his eyes open, alarmed that he’d just messed up something that was supposed to be sort of a silly anniversary anyway.

“Fitz,” she said, pulling away and making firm eye contact as she held his face steady. “I love it. The necklace, yes, but especially that drawing. You can’t –” She exhaled, gaze darting down and back to him again. “I was so confused, Fitz. For so long.” Her voice was so quiet that if he’d been more than a step away from her he might not have heard it. “That morning was when everything changed for me, even if I ignored it for ages.” 

Jemma glanced down at the necklace, which she’d fastened around her neck in her brief absence. “Every time I look at that drawing, I’ll remember that. That...” Fitz slid one hand up to her cheek as she searched for the right word, and she leaned into his touch, sighing. “That sort of burst of feeling more. Like the toothpaste was the catalyst, but I was too close to the subject to see the full result.” Deeply relieved that she didn’t seem to hate the thing (and amused by her choice of metaphor), Fitz smiled as she slid closer and raised up on her tiptoes to press her forehead against his. “I’m desperately in love with you, Leo Fitz, and you can thank the toothpaste for that.” 

He laughed, pulling her as close as they could get with clothes on. “Must remember to write Colgate a thank you note. Maybe send them flowers. Or a car.”

Jemma nuzzled her nose against his, sighing into a small chuckle. “Don’t you dare give them Betsy.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Fitz said, studying her eyes and remembering vividly when he would have shied away from watching her in this way, when he’d convinced himself that the risk of her reading the truth of his feelings was far too great. Everything was so much better between them when they just told the truth. “We’ve got big plans for her later, anyway, yeah?”

She grinned, wrinkling her nose and scratching her fingers gently through the curls at the back of his neck. “Maybe tomorrow. I’m not sure I want to let you out of this – oh!” Fitz pouted as she stepped backwards, having rather liked the direction of her last sentence and disliking their physical separation. “I went to get this from my bunk,” she said, pulling what looked like a thin, rectangular, black bookmark on a small string out of her trousers pocket. “Speaking of Betsy – it’s for the rearview mirror.”

He took the object and turned it over, noting the light blue striations on each side. “Is that...”

“Our DNA,” she finished for him, taking his hands in hers and twisting the knickknack to demonstrate. “Your side and mine. I, uh,” she laughed, “I may have stolen a hair or two when you were sleeping to make it. But I thought you wouldn’t mind. It’s not perfectly accurate, I couldn’t find a website to do exactly what I wanted, but –”

“Jemma,” Fitz interrupted, something in his chest feeling awfully tight. “Why did – did you get this...”

“To commemorate our first date undercover?” Her smile was wide and warm, although she ducked her head slightly before her next words. “I suppose we think entirely too alike.” 

Before Fitz could try to put his thoughts into words, he’d wrapped her up in his arms again and buried his face in her hair. It was as if he’d been zapped with energy, and he was so purely, ecstatically happy that he felt like he could lift up the Aston-Martin with his bare hands if he wanted to. Of _course_ she’d thought the same thing he had – that the night had been important, even if it hadn’t really felt that way at the time. That their first date, for show though it had been, was the mark between their relationship’s before-and-after.

They’d been dating (officially, not undercover dating) for just over eight months now, and Fitz was still adjusting to the fact that Jemma really did feel the same way that he did. The gifts themselves were more or less irrelevant; the fact that they’d both thought to get one independently felt important to him. After a few, long seconds, he realized that he may be squeezing a little too hard (although she hadn’t protested) and loosened his arms, splaying his hands wide across her back.

“You like it, then?” There was a note of amusement in her voice, but he could hear the slight nerves underneath.

“Yeah,” he managed to squeeze out, his voice suddenly going uncomfortably thick. “Yeah, I really do.”

“It’s practical, too,” she added, pulling back again – although he didn’t let her go too far, keeping his arms snugged properly around her waist. Jemma twisted an arm back to grab the thing from him, and tilted it upside down to show an empty slot on the bottom. “You can put air fresheners in here, see? I thought it would be useful to ameliorate the smell of the old leather, since you don’t like it. It’s not quite one of your scented candles, but it should do.” 

Fitz chuckled, leaning his forehead against hers. “Y’know, sometimes I think you couldn’t possibly make me love you more. Then you do things like this.”

Jemma huffed, sliding her present into his breast pocket and her arms around his waist. “You got me a present, too.”

“But yours is better.” He was teasing her intentionally now, and grinned when she made a small squeak of indignation. 

“It is _not_! I love the toothpaste...” Her voice trailed off as she registered the look on his face and rolled her eyes, tucking her head under his chin. “You’re impossible.”

“Yet somehow you put up with me,” Fitz murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. It still shocked him most mornings (and probably would for a long time to come) to remember that Jemma Simmons wanted to be with him, to see the particular, small smile she wore when she first opened her eyes to see him next to her. He was fairly certain now that she’d never looked that way at anyone else, and knowing that was like nothing anything he’d ever felt before. Lucky, ecstatic, and desperate to prove that he was worthy, even though it seemed that she thought he was already. (One day, he’d have to ask her what he’d done to make her think that.)

The gentle glide of her lips along the edge of his jaw brought him out of his thoughts, and he just barely caught her whisper. “If you lock the door, Fitz, I’ll ‘put up with you’ in one of your favorite ways...”

Before he got his breath fully back, he’d tripped into the door in his haste to pull it fully closed (she could mean any one of half a dozen things, and he couldn’t _wait_ to learn which one), and then reddened at the loud giggle this earned him.

“I, uh – I meant to do that,” he muttered, ducking his head and very much looking forward to being able to distract his girlfriend enough that she forgot about his imbecility.

When he worked himself up to glancing at Jemma, the unbridled brightness of her smile made his embarrassment feel more or less irrelevant. She smoothed gentle fingers along his cheeks, up over his forehead and through his hair, and he had to force himself to keep his eyes open. “I wouldn’t have you be anything else,” Jemma said, and – maybe for the first time – Fitz believed her. She used his tie to tug his lips down to hers, and as he let his tense muscles relax into her touch, he thought that although things hadn’t quite gone as planned, maybe it had all been for the best. If there was one thing Fitz had learned while going undercover with Jemma, it was that sometimes change could be very, very good.


End file.
